


5 Times Ned Gave Peter His Sweatshirt

by red_to_black



Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Boys In Love, Bullying, Friends to Lovers, Homophobia, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-17 12:25:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14832234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_to_black/pseuds/red_to_black
Summary: Five times Ned Leeds gave Peter his sweatshirt, and one time Peter returned the favour.(AKA Ned is a dork in love and Peter's a mess but someone has to take care of him. That someone is Ned.)





	1. Five Times Ned Gave Peter His Sweatshirt

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this in one day lmao so if there's typos apologies and also i almost exclusively write liam/brett teen wolf fic? please read the tags, there's homophobia in this fic, it's pretty light but still
> 
> i just can't help it these nerds are clearly ride or die for each other i had to do something. the spiderman fandom suffers from a serious lack of peterned if you ask me ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> part 2 will be up tomorrow! enjoy!

**1.**

The first time Ned gives Peter his hoodie, it’s winter.

Ned’s known about Peter’s secret for about a month now, and the weather’s turned, gone cold like it does just before it begins to snow. Peter’s been out patrolling - he’s always out patrolling, even in frigid weather like this. Ned knows Peter would never forgive himself if something happened and he wasn’t there just because it was warmer inside.

He’s sitting at his desk when there’s a tap on the window. Sometimes Peter comes in like this, although he doesn’t usually knock - he likes to scare Ned by sliding silently inside and grabbing his shoulders, always laughing afterwards, eyes lit up like warm embers when he says, “Dude, I scared you so bad!”

Ned’s smiling as he goes to the window - he likes Peter, maybe a little more than just-friends, and he likes hearing about Spiderman. His best friend is Spiderman and saying that is never going to get old. Not ever. It’s the coolest thing to happen since they rebooted Star Wars.

Peter taps again, fainter this time, and Ned opens the window, still smiling. “You could’ve just come in, dude,” he says. “I don’t mind. Hey, how do you stick to things when it’s…”

He trails off. Peter’s shivering weakly, teetering where he’s crouched precariously on Ned’s windowsill. And Ned realises it’s light out - Peter never comes here when he might be seen. Something’s wrong.

“Are you okay?” he babbles, tugging until Peter moves to come inside. “Peter? Ohmigod you haven’t said anything yet why haven’t you said anything - Peter?”

Peter lands with a thump, legs wobbly, and reaches up to try and take his mask off. He seems like he’s having trouble so Ned reaches up and finds the seam - doesn’t think about Peter’s pulse fluttering at his fingertips, doesn’t think about how he’s so close to Peter’s throat and face, doesn’t think about what the pale column of it looks like stretching out of his shirt - and, carefully, begins to pull it off.

Peter’s face is white, drained entirely of colour, lips such a pale pink Ned can barely see them-

(they’re normally a rich, dark pink, and Ned doesn’t think about how he knows what his best friend’s lips look like when he’s not-)

Peter does this weird shiver-whimper thing that makes Ned’s chest feel like it’s collapsing inwards and jolts him out of his line of thought. He grabs Peter’s arms to steady him and-

“Ohmigod, Peter, you’re so cold-” He can feel it through the thin fabric of Peter’s suit, how cold his friend is, and Peter still hasn’t spoken. “How come the heating mechanism in your suit isn’t working?” he panics.

“Y-You know a-about…?”

Ned hacked Peter’s suit. Peter’s his best friend. Ned probably knows more about what the suit can do than Peter does.

“It’s broken, isn’t it?” Ned asks. “Peter, you’re freezing-”

Peter taps the spider at the middle of the suit and it balloons around him, then slithers off into a damp, cold puddle at Peter’s feet. Ned is sorely tested - Peter is mostly naked in front of him, wearing boxers that barely graze his mid-thighs, nipples peaked with shivers.

“I have to get you warm,” Ned realises. Peter doesn’t seem to be thinking much right now. “Oh my God, you could have hypothermia, you could be dying, Peter, spiders can’t thermo-regulate-”

The first thing he thinks of doing is grabbing one of his hoodies - nondescript, red, but heavy and warm with fleece. He manages to get Peter’s arms up and tug it on over his head, and it’s way too big - Ned’s got more to love than Peter - and it hangs down, only leaving a sliver of the hem of Peter’s boxers poking out.

“Thanks,” Peter whispers hoarsely.

“I’ll, I’ll get you, um - sit,” Ned says, and pushes Peter down onto his bed hard enough that Peter just sort of flops there, and wow, Ned’s imagined this a few times and Peter’s never been nearly hypothermic in any of those fantasies. This isn’t exactly going the way he thought it would.

He makes Peter something warm and forces him to drink it, and after a good half an hour - which Ned spends panicking - there’s a little colour back in Peter’s face, and he’s stopped shivering.

Ned joins him after a while, with his laptop, and they start to watch The Force Awakens. Peter’s sitting closer than normal, his body a slightly-chilled line against Ned’s. Ned can hardly breathe. Peter’s so close Ned can smell his body spray, the scent of laundry powder - May always uses floral-scented stuff - and something that’s just Peter.

“Are, um, are you warmer?” Ned asks.

Peter’s got the duvet tucked around him, and he’s leaning heavily on Ned’s side, looking content and drowsy. Ned’s watching the mug in his hands to make sure he can take it if Peter starts to doze off.

“Yeah,” Peter yawns. “Much warmer. Thanks. I was just, uh, I was closer to here than my own place and I didn’t realise the heating in my suit wasn’t working until I was already really cold, and I knew you’d be in, and uh-”

“I’m glad you came here, Peter,” Ned interrupts, smiling. “That’s what a Guy In The Chair is for.”

Peter looks up, smiles at him over the rim of his hot chocolate. “Thanks, Ned,” he says.

“Don’t mention it,” Ned says, and doesn’t think about the long, lean lines of Peter’s legs beneath the blankets.

 

**2.**

The second time, it’s because Peter gets his own dirty, because he gets into a fight, because of Ned.

Well, Ned didn’t really do anything. Flash has upped his torment of them both recently but Thursday seems to be the day he really targets Ned.

Peter’s usually fine. Brushes it off, keeps to himself, lets it wash over him. Sometimes Ned suspects Peter just doesn’t let anyone see when it does get to him. He lets Flash shove him around, laugh at him, and call him Penis Parker until Flash is blue in the face with it, and he doesn’t say anything.

Ned knows Peter heals, but he still feels pain. If he has to watch Peter get pushed into a wall or a locker or tripped down the stairs one more time, he feels like he’s going to lose it.

Thursday is bad. It’s approaching the anniversary of Ben’s death and Peter’s quiet and Ned’s just trying to be there for him. Peter looks like he’s going to fly apart if anything else happens to him today, so Ned’s keeping lookout for him. He doesn’t think about the way Peter’s hair hangs limply in his face, or how his clothes are crumpled.

Ned doesn’t really see it. He’s at his locker - a few scant spaces away from Peter - when he hears a yell of, “ _Heeeeey_ , Penis Paaaarker!” and turns to see Flash shoving Peter bodily into the metal locker.

The bang it causes makes Ned’s heart jump up twenty beats per minute, and he’s hurrying over before he can tell himself not to get involved. Peter doesn’t like Ned standing up for him because it makes Ned a target, or, well, a bigger one.

Peter’s shoulders are hunched, curled inward, and his head down, like he’s trying to protect himself. Ned’s been shoved like that before, knows it has to have hurt even if the bruises are probably already healing, and Peter’s about to break. He’s about to lose it.

“Leave him alone, Flash,” he hears, from his own mouth, as he puts a hand on Peter’s shoulder. Peter jumps under his touch and only relaxes when he hears Ned’s voice, looks up at him with gratitude.

“Aw, look, Penis! Here’s your boyfriend!” Flash taunts.

“C'mon, Flash, drop it,” Ned says, hating the way he sounds like he’s asking, rather than telling. “Can’t you just give him a break?”

“You wanna take his place for the day, loser?” Flash laughs. “Fine. You asked for it.”

He leaves them alone after that. Ned looks at Peter.

“Are you okay?” he asks hesitantly.

Peter peels himself off his locker door reluctantly. “Thanks, Ned,” he says softly.

“No problem.” Ned’s uneasy; Peter’s never quiet. Not like this. “Um-”

“Let’s… just go, okay?”

So that’s how it starts. Ned takes over being punching bag for the day after that - Flash does leave Peter alone, which is worth it, but Ned’s not sure how many times he can be called variations of the word fat before his self confidence is ground into fine pieces of nothing.

They almost make it through the whole day, until track. It’s freezing outside but not snowing so Coach is making them run, and even Peter - who Ned knows could basically run for an indefinite amount of time and make it look easy - is shivering miserably.

Ned hates running.

It’s not just the physical exertion. It’s because he wobbles, and they have to wear shorts, and Flash is relentless with the taunts today - every time he passes them (Peter stays with him; Peter always stays with him even though his powers would make it easy for him to get an A in this class, because Peter’s his friend) there’s a new iteration of the last insult.

“I haven’t got the internship tonight,” Peter says, trying to distract him. “We could watch the director’s cut of Star Wars and-”

(there’s sweat sliding down the column of Peter’s long, pale throat and Ned knows what his pulse feels like now, from last week, remembers what it feels like to make Peter warm again-)

“Planning to Netflix and chill with your boyfriend, Leeds?” Flash sneers as he begins to catch up with them. “How does that work, exactly, with all the-”

Ned notices, about a split second before shit goes down, the way Peter’s muscles tense, and the way every hair on his legs stands up, or how his neck is suddenly locked like he’s got a crick in it. It’s the strangest thing Ned’s ever seen his best friend do, but he doesn’t get to marvel in it long, because Peter’s turning the next second and tackling Flash to the ground.

The entire track erupts into yells, and Ned has this moment where he’s really happy because holy shit Peter’s angry enough on his behalf to do something, and then he crashes down to earth when Flash punches him in the face and Ned hears Peter’s nose crack.

He shoves past the sudden wall of teenagers and drags Peter away, glad when Flash stays back and doesn’t pursue them. He’s not sure what he’d do if-

Peter shakes him off angrily and stalks away. Coach, Ned realises, hasn’t even seen anything - he’s sitting with his back facing them on the bleachers, reading a magazine.

Ned follows Peter.

The bang when Peter shoves the bathroom door open makes Ned flinch; the door swings open violently, slams against the wall, and then swings shut. Peter’s standing at the sinks, clutching one in his hands, his head down.

“Peter?” Ned asks.

Peter makes a sniffling noise and oh shit, he’s crying and Ned is totally breaking the bro code by watching and-

“Your nose,” he says. “Is it-”

“Broken,” Peter snuffles, and there’s tears cutting through the blood on his cheeks. There’s blood down the front of his hoodie, staining the grey a bright red, and Ned’s stomach turns. He’s never seen Peter bleed like this before, and this is just a high school bully, nothing related to-

“Fuck!”

There’s a crunch as Peter resets his own nose, another gush of blood, and Peter bowing back over the sink, gasping and spitting blood and it’s spraying all over the white porcelain and he’s crying and it’s horrible, it’s so horrible and it’s because of him that Peter’s like this-

His feet carry him forward. He touches Peter’s back gingerly. Peter shudders underneath him.

“I’m sorry-”

“It’s not your fault, it’s Flash’s fault, why can’t he just-”

The sink in Peter’s hands breaks and crumbles, scattering on the floor in pieces. Now Peter’s hands are cut too, and his crying has turned into sobbing.

Ned is paralysed.

“Shit, shit-” Peter’s panicking. “Coach probably saw and he’s gonna come in here and he’s gonna-”

Ned doesn’t know what to do, so he grabs some paper towels and presses them into Peter’s hands to stop the bleeding and grabs more, wets them, and starts dabbing at his face. His nose has already healed.

Peter goes strangely quiet under his ministrations. He stays still and lets Ned clean him up, occasionally sniffling or dragging in an exhausted, hitching breath.

“Your hoodie is a goner,” Ned says hesitantly.

Peter looks down at the plain grey sweatshirt, sighs, and peels it over his head. For Ned’s part, he tries not to stare at his best friend’s abs - he feels like it’s kind of rude when Peter’s an emotional wreck - and grabs more towels for his hands.

“You really messed that sink up,” he says.

Peter chokes, and Ned recognises it as a laugh a few seconds later. “Yeah.” He lets Ned turn the taps on to run his hands under them; they run clear, and the cuts have already healed up. Blood washes down the drain.

“I wonder if you can bend steel too?” Ned wonders thoughtfully. “Or if it was cold enough, maybe you could shatter it if you hit it hard enough-”

Cold enough. Peter’s shivering miserably in his thin blue t-shirt. He’s not immune to cold - he’s kind of skinny even if he is totally ripped, and the bite seems to have made his sensitivity to temperature change even worse than it already was - and he’s clearly suffering without a sweatshirt.

“Here,” Ned says, unzipping his own and handing it to Peter to slide his arms into. “See? I’m wearing a long-sleeved shirt.”

“Ned-”

“Please take it,” Ned interrupts. “That was kind of awesome. Nobody’s ever stood up for me like that before.”

Peter gives him a wan, slightly shy smile. “Thanks, Ned.”

Ned is so screwed.

 

**3.**

The third time it happens, Peter’s sick.

Ned didn’t even know Peter could still get sick, what with his healing factor and all. In fact, Ned hasn’t seen Peter sick since the spider bite _made_ him sick almost a year ago.

Peter turns up to school on Thursday with a sniffle and a cough, but nothing serious. Ned mothers him a little but Peter gives him a tired smile and says, “I’m okay, Guy In The Chair,” and Ned’s so helplessly gone on his best friend that he forgets to keep going.

Friday, Peter looks like he’s going to keel over.

He shows up at his locker looking white and clammy, and when Ned steps closer, he can feel the heat radiating off Peter’s body. Peter ditches his jacket and hoodie straight away, which is Ned’s second clue that something’s wrong.

“You need to go home,” he says urgently. “You’re sick-”

“I’m fine,” Peter croaks, wobbling a little as he closes his locker. “I can’t miss any more days. I’m behind.”

“I’ll bring you the homework and notes, Peter, just go home and rest,” Ned pleads.

“No,” Peter says tiredly.

“Did you at least take something for it?” Ned asks. “Tylenol or something?”

“Doesn’t work on me,” Peter mumbles miserably. “I metabolise it too fast.”

“Dude, you can’t go to class, you’re-”

“Late,” a voice behind them says; it’s their Spanish teacher. “Off you go.”

So they head to class, and by the time they’re sitting down Peter’s begun to shiver, his hoodie and jacket long forgotten in his locker. Ned wants so badly to take Peter home and wrap him in a blanket he’s almost dying with it, but he can’t. Peter’s stubborn, and if he wants to be here nothing will change that.

The bell rings, and Ned realises there is something he can do - he hustles Peter into the lower floor bathroom, where nobody ever is because it’s too far out of the way for most classes, and turns the tap on.

“Drink something,” he encourages, and Peter leans over unsteadily to stick his mouth under the tap. Ned steadies him, worrying at his lip, not thinking about the way Peter’s sides are rising and falling shakily with his breath.

(He’s seen that before. Summer, when Peter stays over and falls asleep shirtless and Ned gets to watch him breathe quietly, gets to watch the shift of sinew and muscle beneath tight pale skin. He’s seen it. This is different.)

Peter straightens up and blinks at Ned miserably. He’s shivering again, and now there are two spots of colour high in his cheeks. Ned barely hesitates before pressing a hand to Peter’s head. His mom does this for him when he’s sick, which is the justification he’ll use if Peter asks why he’s acting so weird.

Peter’s burning up. He’s so hot it makes Ned wince.

“Here,” he says, shrugging out of his zip-up - this one is a red number with grey sleeves. “Take this-”

“Ned,” Peter croaks.

“You’re _cold_ , c'mon, your locker is on the other side of the school-”

Peter shrugs the hoodie on and wraps it around himself. He blinks. Sways a little.

“Thanks, Ned,” he says.

“Can I just ask one more time if you’ll go home?” Ned tries.

“No, Ned,” Peter says tiredly.

Ned manages to catch up with Peter after school, even though they don’t have the same last period together. Peter looks even worse, and the shaking has ramped up to eleven, and he’s clutching Ned’s hoodie around him like he’s going to die.

“Peter, you look terrible,” Ned says, staring.

“Thanks,” Peter mumbles wearily.

“Penis Parker!”

Peter closes his eyes and leans his forehead against the locker; Ned turns to see Flash approaching.

“Wearing your boyfriend’s jacket again?” Flash coos. “That’s sweet. How come he never…”

Flash trails off when Peter straightens, then wobbles precariously.

“Parker,” he says. “You don’t look so good.”

“Fuck off, Flash,” Peter snarls weakly.

“Whoa, okay. Leeds, reign your boyfriend in, will you? He’s nasty when he’s sick.”

Ned can almost count the number of times he’s heard Peter say _fuck_ in any context (Peter says May and Ben raised him right), and he knows it never heralds anything good. Peter must be feeling pretty awful.

They’ve missed the bus, probably because they were slow. Peter is still shaking and he’s wearing his hoodie and Ned’s hoodie _and_ his jacket. He’s getting worse, Ned realises with dismay, not better.

They’ve walked for about fifteen minutes when Peter stops, gags, and vomits into a bush nearby. Ned’s so worried at this point he honestly wants to call Tony Stark or something, but he knows Peter would never let him.

“Sorry,” Peter whispers, wobbling upright.

“It’s okay,” Ned says anxiously; Peter looks like he’s going to cry. “Can you make it back to your place? May will know how to-”

“She’s away,” Peter croaks. “Work.”

No wonder Peter managed to get to school - May doesn’t know he’s sick.

“Okay,” Ned panics; he can’t leave Peter on his own like this. “Um, well, how about - how about I come with you, then? We can hop on the city bus.”

“No buses,” Peter moans, looking like he’s going to be sick again. “Just wanna go home.”

“I know, I know, I-”

He zeroes in on the shape of Peter’s wallet in his pocket. He knows Tony Stark gave Peter a credit card - “for emergencies,” Peter had stammered, embarrassed, when he’d told Ned - and if that’s true, Ned can probably flag them a taxi. Peter’s not going anywhere on foot, that’s for sure.

“Sorry, Peter,” he says, and steps close enough to put his hand into his best friend’s pocket and fish for his wallet. Peter’s jeans are tighter than they look though, and it’s proving hard to free it from Peter without some serious rummaging.

Peter tips forward a little, letting his head rest on Ned’s shoulder and neck. He’s burning hot against Ned’s skin, and Ned doesn’t care if Peter metabolises medicine fast, he’s still going to make him take some when they get back.

He finally manages to get Peter’s wallet, except now, Peter doesn’t seem like he wants to move off Ned’s shoulder. He’s breathing shakily.

The next little while is uneventful. Ned calls a taxi and Peter hurls twice more into the innocent bush nearby, and they get a few looks from strangers but they’re too old to look like helpless kids now, so nobody offers help. By the time they get back to Peter’s apartment - Peter leans his head on Ned’s shoulder the entire car ride - Ned’s never been so relieved in his life.

He gets Peter upstairs, liberates his house keys the same way he took the wallet, and opens the door. After that, it’s easy - he makes Peter drink a glass of water and brush his teeth before plying him with Tylenol, then puts him to bed with a bucket at his bedside.

He calls his mom to let her know he’s staying over and settles in with some homework. He’s pretty sure Peter’s asleep until he hears a crash in the bedroom, and then Peter’s stumbling out, wide eyed, hair slick with sweat. His shirt is damp and clinging to him, and when Ned touches him - puts a hand on Peter’s arm and the other on his shoulder to steady him - Peter’s skin is still hot with a raging fever that the Tylenol apparently didn’t even touch.

“Ned,” he says. “Your sweatshirt, I lost it, I’m so sorry, I don’t know where I put it and it was my favourite and I-”

“Peter, it’s okay!” Ned says, alarmed. Peter’s totally out of it. “I took it off you before you went to bed. Don’t you remember?”

“I lost it,” Peter sniffles sadly. “You gave it to me and I lost it. My favourite sweatshirt, Ned. Of yours.”

The clarification confuses him, but he lets it go and gets up. The hoodie’s crumpled on the couch; he shakes it out and helps Peter into it.

“See? Not lost.”

“Not lost,” Peter says faintly. He’s swaying. Ned isn’t strong enough to carry Peter if he collapses - Peter might be thin and wiry but he’s deceptively heavy - and he won’t be able to get Peter back into bed if he falls.

“Sit down,” Ned says nervously. “You look like you’re gonna puke again, dude, where’s your bucket?”

“Right here.” Peter tugs the arms of the sweatshirt. “Found it.”

“No, the bucket,” Ned says despairingly. He goes to retrieve it - and the thermometer, which he stuffs into Peter’s mouth unceremoniously as he tries not to watch the way Peter wraps his lips around it obediently.

The thermometer beeps. Peter’s temperature is sitting at about one hundred and two, which isn’t as bad as Ned thought with the way he’s rambling on.

“C'mon, Peter,” he says quietly. He helps his friend up. “Go back to bed, okay? It’s okay.”

“Ned?” Peter asks.

“Yeah, Peter?”

“Can I keep it?”

“Keep what?”

Peter tugs the sleeves of the hoodie again.

“Oh.” It’s a strange thing for Peter to ask; it doesn’t fit him at all, and it’s not even a particularly nice sweatshirt. “Um, yeah. Sure.”

Peter smiles faintly, looking relieved. “Thanks, Ned.”

“No problem.” He pushes Peter onto his bunk. “Go to bed, okay?”

Peter nods. Then he leans over and vomits into the bucket he’s holding, spitting weakly in the aftermath.

Ned sighs. It’s going to be a long night.

 

**4.**

The fourth time… well, nothing really happens at all.

Peter shows up a week later - he’s spent most of it in bed sick, and he’s still a little pale and weak when he turns up on Saturday morning. Ned had ended up calling Tony Stark - he spoke on the phone with Tony Stark and the guy had begrudgingly commended Ned on his exceptional hacking skills and it was awesome even though Peter had been puking all night - and Tony Stark, having access to The Best of everything, had sent a drone over with some medicine specifically designed for Peter’s metabolism.

“It’s enough to kill an elephant,” Mr. Stark had said, waving a hand. “But not enough to kill a bedridden Spiderling as long as you give him the right doses, so don’t screw it up, okay kid? The second he gets worse I’m coming over.”

“Y-Yes Mr. Stark,” Ned had stammered out.

Peter’s fever had broken sometime around three in the morning, after a bout of vomiting Ned was sure was going to kill him and that nearly triggered his sympathetic response. After forcing Peter to down the meds with some Gatorade, Ned had sat and held his hair back from his forehead, feeling his temperature tick up for half an hour before plummeting back down.

Peter shivers and sweats miserably though his fever breaking, but he seems to know Ned’s there - he clutches Ned’s hand so tightly the strength is almost superhuman, almost painful - and, eventually, passes out at two thirty, exhausted.

The meds, it turns out, really knock Peter around. They’re strong, and so Peter spends the next week at home - May is furious with him for not telling her he was sick, and so Ned hasn’t really spoken much to him.

Until now, when Peter shows up on his doorstep looking a little pale and skinny, but really no worse for wear.

“Peter,” Ned says, happy and surprised at the same time.

Peter rocks on his heels and smiles a little shyly. “Sorry for almost puking on you,” he says. “It um, it wasn’t very good of me after you spent, you know, all that time taking care of me-”

He hasn’t heard Peter stumbling over his words like this in a long time - not with him, at least. This treatment is usually reserved for Liz.

“That’s okay, man,” Ned says. “Happy to help.”

“Cool.” Peter relaxes, marginally. “I uh, I brought over the new Lego BB-8-”

“What?! Dude, how did you get that?”

“May thought I’d be bored while I was sick, so she got it for me, but - I saved it so we could build it together.”

“Dude,” Ned breathes reverently, and opens the door so Peter can step out of the cold. He’s only wearing a long-sleeved shirt. And jeans that hug his legs.

(Ned doesn’t think about Peter’s legs. Or his neck. Or any other part of him.)

“Do you want anything?” Ned asks, even though Peter’s been here thousands of times and pretty much just helps himself now. “I can-”

“Actually, I uh,” Peter says, nervously, “I’m kinda cold. Can - can I borrow a sweatshirt?”

Ned’s brain does this weird thing where it goes offline, fizzing a little at the nerve endings like mentos dropped in coke, and then abruptly and unpleasantly restarts itself. He could’ve sworn Peter just asked for a sweatshirt.

“Um,” Peter says, looking embarrassed. “Unless that’s… weird?”

“No,” Ned says hurriedly, coming to the sudden and unpleasant conclusion that he really likes seeing Peter wearing his clothes, “you’ll get sick again if you get cold-”

Peter relaxes a little. “Thanks, Ned,” he says gratefully, and follows Ned to his bedroom, where he drops his bag and takes the thick, warm sweatshirt Ned hands him. It covers Peter’s hands down to the last knuckle, but at least this one doesn’t drop so far past his hips he looks like he’s wearing a dress.

Peter looks pretty pleased, though, so Ned won’t complain. Peter stands there a moment, wearing Ned’s sweatshirt, and says, “Dude, this is - the warmest thing I’ve ever worn.”

Ned doesn’t know how to feel about that. He’s confused. Every part of him loves seeing Peter wear his clothes, and it’s not new that he’s in love with Peter, he knows that, but he can’t help but wonder why Peter got weird about asking. Why he even asked, instead of just taking one like he has before.

“Oh, crap,” Peter says. “I forgot to take my shoes off-”

Ned’s mom is kind of a clean freak.

“I’ll get the Lego,” he says excitedly, forgetting almost entirely about the weirdness of the last five minutes. “Be quick and she won’t notice.”

Peter almost runs back to the front door, and Ned turns to his bag, sitting next to the desk. He unzips it to pull out the BB-8 set, then frowns.

Stuffed at the bottom of Peter’s bag is one of his own hoodies - Ned would recognise it anywhere, because Peter wears it almost religiously and it’s this weird off-green colour that would never work for Ned but makes the brownness of Peter’s eyes and hair stand out.

Ned’s confusion doubles and develops its own confusion. Peter has his own hoodie right here - and it smells like fresh aftershave, which means he was probably wearing it this morning.

“Ned!” Peter calls. “Your mom wants to know if we want hot chocolate!”

Ned leaves Peter’s bag there to head out to the kitchen, trying not to turn himself inside out thinking about the implications of Peter ditching his own hoodie in favour of Ned’s. His heart can’t take it.

Peter smiles when he enters the kitchen. He’s tugged the sleeves of the hoodie down over his hands properly, and his face is cradled in them.

“Your mom’s the best,” he says happily.

“Yeah,” Ned says. “I know.”

Peter’s going to _kill_ him one day.

 

**5.**

The fifth time, it’s the anniversary.

May lets Peter have it off school. Ned doesn’t know how today is going to go, because it’s been a year, and he doesn’t know how to handle Peter like this, all sad and scared and guilt ridden, and he feels awful for being relieved that Peter’s not in school.

He still goes round afterwards, though.

He’s nervous to knock on the door of Peter’s apartment, but he does anyway, because how bad can it be really? He’s sure Peter will compose himself before answering, if there’s anything that needs to be composed, because he hates it when people see him cry and-

The door swings open.

Peter is a mess. It’s the only way Ned knows how to describe him. It’s chilly in the apartment and Peter’s only wearing a baggy t-shirt and his eyes are red and puffy and there are tear tracks on his cheeks, and he even looks like he might be shaking.

He wipes his eyes. “Sorry,” he croaks. “Um, hi.”

Well, Ned can’t stand for this. It’s not right. His chest gets that feeling he first had two months ago, when Peter crawled in his window and looked like death and every single one of Ned’s ribs felt like they were being caved in and his lungs deflated.

He steps forward and pulls Peter into a hug. Peter stiffens up for a moment, and he’s cold in Ned’s arms - why isn’t the heating on? - and for a moment Ned thinks he miscalculated. Maybe he was just supposed to be the Guy In The Chair and pretend Peter was fine and not acknowledge anything and-

Peter gives a soft whimper, goes lax, and buries his head in Ned’s shoulder, arms gripping the back of his sweatshirt like he’s afraid Ned’s going to disappear. He’s not making much noise but his back is shaking and his breaths are gasping against Ned’s throat in the way they do when someone’s really, honestly losing it and having a breakdown.

(Ned knows what those are like. He’s had them before too, after one too many insults, after thinking he’d lost Peter after Coney Island, when Peter had disappeared from his monitors and didn’t show until hours later, limping and bleeding. And he knows - he knows that Peter’s entire world is probably narrowed down to the spot on Ned’s shoulder he’s crying into, because Ned felt the same way when he hugged Peter after helping him get cleaned up.)

Ned rubs Peter’s back, feels the knocks of his spine underneath his hand. “It’s okay,” he whispers uncertainly. “It’s okay, Peter. It wasn’t your fault.”

Peter cries for so long Ned feels his shirt get wet at the shoulder. He’s stressed, he’s sad. Ned wants nothing more than to hold him forever, and it has nothing to do with Peter’s legs or neck or arms or any other part of him. He just wants to make sure Peter’s okay.

Peter surfaces from his shoulder with a miserable sniffle, wiping his eyes. They’re so red it looks painful, and Ned gets him a glass of water. There’s no way he’s not dehydrated after that.

Peter downs it almost mechanically. He hasn’t really said anything. He’s shivering - why is the apartment so cold? Why hasn’t he got the heater on?

Ned goes for the thermostat, but Peter stops him. “It was really hot in here the day he died,” Peter whisper-croaks. “I don’t want it warm.”

He’s shivering. His fingers are pale and bloodless around Ned’s wrist, nose a little red from the cold - and the crying, probably.

“Peter,” Ned says softly.

Peter blinks at him. “Sorry I’m a mess,” he offers weakly. “I didn’t know you’d come round, I…”

Ned pulls his zip-up off and bundles Peter into it, pulling the hood up over his head for good measure. “Of course I came around,” he says. “You’re my best friend. I had to make sure you were okay.”

Peter smiles a little. “Always making sure I’m okay,” he says. “Guy In The Chair.”

“Well yeah,” Ned says. “Dude, someone has to.”

They stare at each other for a moment. Peter rocks back and forth on his heels, looking nervous.

“Peter, what’s-”

Peter leans forward and kisses him quickly on the mouth, shyly, and it’s over so fast Ned doesn’t really know what to do about it, doesn’t know how to process, because holyshitPeterjustkissedhimand-

“Ned?” Peter asks, sounding scared. “Um - I’m sorry, I thought - I thought you-”

Ned pulls Peter in again by his elbows - kinda awkward, Ned’s not smooth - and kisses him back, and Peter tastes salty from tears but he’s not crying anymore and that’s good.

“Is this okay?” Ned asks, because Peter’s been crying all morning and he’s not sure they should be making out. “Peter, we - don’t have to do this now-”

“Don’t stop,” Peter begs softly. “Ned, you’re like the only part of my life that feels good sometimes. And you - you take care of me, you know? Everyone else just sees Spiderman. You see me.”

Ned hugs him. Peter’s warmer now, from his hoodie.

“I kind of thought,” Ned says quietly, into Peter’s neck, “that maybe… you liked me too.”

“What?!” Peter pulls back, looking terrified. “No, no, I was trying to - I was trying to be subtle, I - how?”

“When you came over,” Ned says, grinning. “You asked for my hoodie but I saw yours in my bag.”

Peter rubs the back of his neck. “Wearing your clothes makes me feel safe,” he mumbles, his whole face tinting pink with embarrassment. “I know it’s weird.”

“It’s not,” Ned says hurriedly. “It’s not, I like it when you wear them.”

Peter looks up. Smiles. Wipes the remainder of the tears from his eyes.

“So um… it’s been a pretty rough day,” he says. “Can we go back to kissing now?”

Ned laughs. “Yeah,” he says, watching Peter’s eyes brighten. “Okay. As long as we can finish Lego BB-8 afterwards.”

“Sounds good.” Peter’s flushed, with happiness or embarrassment Ned can’t tell. They retire to the couch, with Lego BB-8 on the coffee table in front of them, and Peter still seems a little down but Ned presses his knee to Peter’s to comfort him, and he doesn’t even have to pretend, now. That he doesn’t feel the way he does, because - because Peter feels the same way, _holyshit_.

May doesn’t seem surprised to find them like that. “Hi, boys,” she greets when she enters - she looks tired and sad, and Peter immediately gets up to hug her.

“Hi, May,” he whispers into her neck.

She pushes Peter’s hair back. “Honey…”

“I’m okay,” Peter says quickly, and Ned frowns a little because he’s not, but he doesn’t say anything. “Ned’s here. I’m fine.”

_Ned’s here, I’m fine_. Ned can’t quite wrap his head around the fact that he makes Peter - who can bench press a bus and fall from a plane and live without any scars - feel safe.

May smiles. “He’s always here,” she says, and gives Ned a kiss on the head as well. “Thank you, Ned.”

He smiles, and Peter’s pinky finger links with his own. Ned’s not going anywhere. Not now.


	2. ... And One Time Peter Returned The Favour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> exactly what it says in the title.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm glad everyone liked this! i can be found over at lol-briams.tumblr.com, where i mostly shitpost about my life and write a whole lotta disjointed fanfic. if these two dorks are popular enough maybe i'll even start taking prompts for them :)
> 
> enjoy!

**... +1.**

"Can I just say I can't believe my boyfriend is Spiderman?" Ned says.

"Ned," Peter whispers. "Keep your voice down. Your mom might hear you."

They're in Ned's room. Peter's just crawled in his window, taken the mask off, and is now shimmying carefully out of his suit. Ned doesn't have to pretend not to look anymore - it's been that way for a month but it never gets old, watching the endless expanse of Peter's skin reveal itself from the tight spandex.

Peter finally gets out of the suit, pouts at him, and holds out his hands. Ned passes over one of his hoodies with a grin.

"Are you ever going to-"

"Nope," Peter says cheerfully, sliding it on. "Oh! That reminds me. I um, I kind of got you something?"

Ned perks up. "You - why?"

Peter grins. "I'm always stealing your sweatshirts," he says. "So..." He's digging through his backpack now, wearing nothing but Ned's hoodie and his boxers - "I got something only you can wear!"

"What?" Ned laughs, and he can't help but pull Peter onto his lap when Peter tries to hand him the gift. For Peter's part, he goes easily, even though he could resist if he really wanted to.

"C'mon, open it!"

Ned winds one hand around Peter's skinny waist while he tugs the package open, forcing Peter to lean into him entirely or get squashed. Peter's flushed and beaming, and his excitement is making Ned excited.

Ned's grinning as he tears the package open, jostling Peter around in the process. He likes that Peter sits here, comfortably, not worried about falling or looking stupid or anything else. 

Something thick and soft falls into his hands. He realises, in the next second, that it's a hoodie.

"Turn it over," Peter says brightly, shifting around his lap in ways that almost distract Ned from the hoodie in favour of taking advantage of his gorgeous boyfriend.

He lifts the hoodie up and turns it around. On the back is the image of a computer chair, with Ned's likeness sitting in it, and the slogan "GUY IN THE CHAIR" emblazoned across the back.

"I got it custom-made!" Peter's almost bouncing where he's sitting. "It took ages to ship out here but I wanted to get you something that was for you, that you'd really like, and uh - I promise I won't steal this one, or get blood on it, or puke on it..."

Those things have happened before, so Ned spares a moment to be grateful to Peter for the promise as he turns the sweatshirt over, speechless, his whole body warm with affection.

"Do you like it?" Peter asks timidly.

"I love it." Ned drops it in favour of wrapping his arms around Peter and squeezing, and Peter's a good enough boyfriend to pretend to wheeze at the constriction. "This is like the best gift anyone's ever gotten me."

Peter's flushed. He does that a lot now, Ned's realised, when he's happy or embarrassed or even sometimes both. He likes it. Likes that only he can make Peter do it with happiness.

"The best thing is," Peter says, "nobody even knows it's a reference to, uh, me. Because you've always been that to me."

Ned softens, digs his hands into Peter's sides where they're just a tiny bit softer than the rest of him, which is stupidly ripped, not that Ned's complaining, and says, "Always will be."

Peter smiles. "Yeah, dude. I know."


End file.
